“I’m going inside,” I tell the guards.
“Princess Gisele, is that safe?”
I shoot the man a look of pure disdain. “Are we expecting an ambush from a two-year-old?” I don’t wait for his answer, striding inside and closing the door behind me.
The interior is as ramshackle as the exterior. I see a curtained-off privy, a plain little kitchen, and a narrow stairway leading to the second floor. A few lonely toys and books lie scattered in the front room among a loose deck of playing cards, and I can smell the aftermath of breakfast at the long table in the corner, but there are about twice as many children in this space as there should be.
And all of them are looking at me expectantly.
“So . . .” I run a hand down my face. “You . . . live here?”
“Yeah,” one says.
Another long silence follows. I amnotgood with children.
“Do you—” I rack my brain for anything to fill the empty air. “Do you like it in Minkja?”
A Sahalian boy nods, his dark eyes solemn. “I like the snow.”
Silence.
“Great . . . great.” I look around and find a chair to sit in. They’re all still staring at me. I get an idea and fish Ragne out of my hood, where she’s begun to snore. “Do you want to meet my . . . pet squirrel?”
Ragne only rolls over in my hands, snoring louder. The children are not impressed.
I set her on the table and run my hands over my face again.
“You’re not a very good princess,” someone mumbles. There’s a ruffle of giggles.
“You know what?” I snap. The laughter goes quiet, and instantly Ifeel a little chagrined. This isn’t winning me any favors withanyone, not Eiswald, Adalbrecht, nor the ragtag bunch of orphans judging my every move.
I just have to keep them occupied until Umayya returns. Then I can make my donation and see if she knows of anyone in the Hoenring who matches Gisele’s description.
Well, if I can’t be nice to them, at least I can be interesting. “You want to see a knife?”
“YEAH!”
It’s like a dam breaking. They gather around the chair as I pull out my boot knife and show them how it fits in the heel.
It turns out the keys to a child’s heart are weapons and card scams. By the time Umayya returns, half the orphans are taking turns throwing knives at a log of firewood in the corner (I reclaimed my own blade and made them use the table knives) and the other half are watching as I teach Fabine, an older Bourgienne girl, how to run a game of Find the Lady.
“The key is to keep your hands moving,” I’m telling Fabine as Umayya walks in, her hand locked around the runaway Josef’s collar. “People are always looking for the trick—”
“You let them throw knives?” Umayya gasps as she shuts the door. “Is that araton my table?”
Ragne jerks awake as I grab her, but mercifully she stays limp. “Just a, a, a puppet,” I lie, stuffing her in a pocket. “I thought they might like it, but they got bored.”
“And so they are throwing knives instead.” Umayya shakes her head, then surveys the damage. “Ah, it could be worse. At least they’re not throwing knives at each other.No one throw knives at each other!”
At least three orphans sag with disappointment.
“It’s my fault for dropping you into this,” Umayya sighs. “All right, everyone, hand over the utensils. What brought you to the Gänslinghaus,Prinzessin?”
I hand the playing cards to Fabine and stand, embarrassed. “Well, I’m looking for an old friend—”
The back door in the kitchen swings open. A familiar voice hits me right in the gut.
“Good news, Auntie,” Joniza half sings as she sails in from the back alley, jingling a coin purse, “it’s payday in Südbígn, and our last three performances sold out!”
